


Breakaway

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cam Mitchell, Evan Lorne, and John Sheppard are selected to train in the elite F302 fighter program. The last thing Mitchell expected was to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakaway

**Author's Note:**

> This is my "Breakaway" AU, in which Cam, Evan and John meet in the F302 training program. This is my explanation of how they met and how their friendships and relationships evolved.

**Breakaway**

 _Part 1_

Cam Mitchell hadn’t stayed in a dorm room since graduation from the Air Force Academy. He’d lived in some pretty primitive conditions due to combat assignments, but he'd hoped for a private room at Luke AFB. He wasn't spoiled. He was just in need of some space to decompress before starting the intensive F-302 training. The last thing he needed was to share a suite with three cadets. He looked hopefully at the sergeant manning the billeting desk.

He shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Due to the nature of the program and your late arrival, your housing choices are somewhat limited. There is off-base housing ...” He scrolled down his computer screen. Here’s something -- A condo in Glendale. Major John Sheppard is the contact. It's that or stay on base for a few days until we can find something else for you.”

Cam sighed and held out his hand. “Thank you, sergeant. I'll try Major Sheppard.”

The sergeant gave him a piece of paper with an address and phone number on it. “Good luck, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Cam stepped out of the heavily air-conditioned office and into the Arizona heat. It didn't bother him; not after two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. He punched Sheppard's number into his cell phone and got voicemail. Just the way his luck was running, he guessed. He’d take a chance and drive out there; give a plea for mercy in person. Hell, he’d pull rank if he had to. Just so he had a place to lay his head ...

One of the few perks of being a Colonel was having his own wheels available to him; a classic Mustang that was a sweet ride and had an engine like a jet fighter. It took to the wide desert roads like it had been born to ride on them.

Once off the base, regular traffic took over and he drove more carefully, finally pulling off the freeway exit to Glendale. He drove through some mediocre neighborhoods, through some good ones, and finally into what looked like an upscale condo development. He checked the address. Sheppard must have money. This was way beyond a major's salary.

The unit was at the end of a cul-de-sac with a view of the mountains and a golf course. Definitely private money. He went up to the door and knocked.

“Hold on!” A voice came from inside, and a moment later the door opened. Sheppard was younger than Cam had expected by a few years. He was wearing faded jeans and a paint-smeared shirt. A streak of blue that was nearly the same color as his eyes highlighted his cheekbone. He wasn't particularly tall, but his compact frame was muscular and fit.

“Umm …” Cam was a bit thrown off guard. “Major Sheppard?”

“Nope. Sorry.” He held out his hand, pulled it back and looked at it, then wiped it on his jeans, before offering it again. “Evan Lorne. Cap … I mean Major. The promotion's so new the ink isn't even dry.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He looked at his palm, now with a bit of blue paint on it.

Lorne laughed. “Sorry about that. So, what can I do for you?” His mouth had a cheerful curve to it, his eyes were blue, his smile brought out dimples. Cam stared.

“I, I …” he cleared his throat. “The sergeant at the billeting office sent me over. He said Major Sheppard had a room ...”

“Yeah, this place is like staying at the Hilton. Four bedrooms, private baths, big pool out back … after where I've been it's like being on vacation.”

“Afghanistan?”

Lorne made a face. “Worse. Somalia.”

“Sorry.”

“Come on in … Geez, I didn't even ask your name.”

“Cameron Mitchell.” He was a little embarrassed. “Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”

Lorne suddenly stood straighter, and a blush suffused his cheeks. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Forget it. I'm not your CO. Right now, I'm just a guy who needs a beer and a place to stay.”

“God, my mom would give me a good shake for being rude. Come in, sir. I'll get the beer; the room is up to Sheppard.”

“Cam.” He followed Lorne inside. He set his gear down and looked around. There was a lot of white walls, Saltillo tile floors, Navajo rugs. Southwest artwork that looked expensive. “Who lives like this?” he asked under his breath.

“I do.”

Cam turned to the voice. It belonged to a slim, dark-haired man, closer to his own age than Lorne. He looked tired. He was wearing BDUs and carrying a helmet in the crook of his arm. “Lucky you,” Cam commented.

“It's not my place. It's my dad's. I'm John Sheppard. If we're being formal, Major John Sheppard.”

“Cam Mitchell. And if we're being formal. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”

Unlike Lorne, Sheppard seemed unfazed by that admission, but retained the distance rank imposed. “How can I help you, Colonel?”

“For starters, by letting me bunk with you here. Like I told Major Lorne, forget the rank.”

“You've met Evan?”

“Yes. He's my new best friend. Getting beers. He said the room part was up to you.”

Sheppard shrugged and ran a hand over his already mussed hair. “Okay, here's the run-down. Evan and I are in this intensive training class for new jet fighters --”

“The F-302s?”

“Umm. Are you supposed to know that?” Sheppard was suddenly cautious.

“It's why I'm here.”

“Okay, I guess we're on the same page. House rules are do your own laundry, police your own bathroom, clean up the kitchen if you cook. Unless you're cooking for all of us.” He looked hopeful and Cam shook his head.

“Pancakes. And I grill a mean steak. After that, it's spaghetti sauce from a jar or MREs.”

Sheppard laughed. “We _are_ on the same page.”

“At least we won't die of thirst.” Lorne reappeared with three beers. “Guess you're here for the duration, sir.”

“Count me in. And cut the 'sir' crap. We're all here for the same reason, so in my book that makes us equals.”

Lorne's dimples came out again. “Welcome to the crazy. Fighters that are space-capable. Who'd have thought we'd see it in our lives?”

“Now, _that's_ what I call cool!” Cam grinned, feeling at home as they raised their cans of beer in a toast. “Thanks for the invite, fellas.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

A week later, Cam found an old acquaintance having lunch in the base cafeteria. After exchanging the usual information, they settled in for a more in-depth talk about their current assignments. Jim Stenson was a newly-minted Colonel on assignment at the Pentagon. Cam had served with him as a Captain at Peterson AFB before his combat deployments and they were, if not friends, familiar enough to share a table and a cup of coffee.

“So, Cam, what are you doing here at Luke?”

“Training on some new high-tech fighters.”

“The F-302 program? How about that! That's why I'm here. I'm an analyst on the project. Small world. How's that going?”

Cam took a swallow of his coffee. “It's pretty stressful being back in a learning environment after combat.”

“More stressful than combat?” Stenson laughed. “God, you rocket jockeys are all the same.”

“We're not, actually.”

“So, are you quartered on base?”

“No. I'm sharing a condo with two fellow pilots in Glendale. It's a good arrangement.”

“Anybody I know?”

“John Sheppard and Evan Lorne.”

Stenson coughed and shook his head. “I'm sorry about that.”

“What?”

“How'd you get shoved in with those two?”

Cam blinked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. “I don't get it.”

“One advantage of the Pentagon gig is that I'm up on the latest inside info. Sheppard's primarily a chopper pilot. The crazy SOB got sent home after a suspicious incident in A-stan. Seems he has a problem following orders. I wonder who pulled the strings to get him in the program here?”

Cam, who counted impatience as one of his besetting sins, wasn't about to condemn Sheppard. “Maybe he's here because he can fly anything with two wings better than I can on my best day.”

“Or maybe because Daddy has deep purse strings,” Stenson insinuated and Cam remembered why they were just acquaintances and not friends.

“And Lorne?”

Stenson leaned back in his chair. “He doesn't seem a little 'off' to you?”

“Off?”

“As in a certain policy beginning with DADT?”

“Come on, the guy's a _Major_. Just promoted. And if you say that's because he bent over for it, then I'll get up and leave this table.”

“Easy, Cam. It's just rumor.”

“It's a damn ugly rumor to pass on. You're a better man than that.”

“I'm just giving you a heads-up, that's all.”

“Jesus, Stenson. I forgot what an asshole you are.”

“Tell me that when he makes a pass at you.”

Cam's anger boiled over. He stood up. “Maybe I won't be as offended as you think,” he spat. “You know what? I'm glad you got that post in DC, because I don't want you fighting next to me, ever.” He banged the tray on the service line and left.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Training proceeded, and with it came the inevitable homework: something else Cam wasn't used to doing. He, Lorne and Sheppard all had different learning styles which should have been disruptive to their rooming arrangement, but seemed to work for them. Cam, used to being in command and making sure his team continued to work as one despite possible personal clashes, found himself observing Sheppard and Lorne with the same interest.

Sheppard was whip-smart with a near photographic memory. He seemed to absorb things by osmosis and while Cam and Lorne were pouring over books and spec sheets, he was finished and off to the golf course or pool.

Lorne was one of those maddening organized students. He set out what had to be done and did it methodically and thoroughly. He was smart enough to finish his work nearly as fast as Sheppard. His refuge was the fourth bedroom which he had set up as an art studio.

Cam was more interested in his observations than burying his nose in a book and it showed in his test scores. They were high, because he was innately competitive, but Sheppard was always first, and Lorne second in the classwork. Cam was annoyed. So he studied harder and longer, and made up for it in the flight simulators where it was his turn to be first, with John nipping at his heels and Lorne just one pace behind. It was beginning to piss off some of the other trainees that the three of them were consistently at the head of the class.

Cam found out how deep and ugly the resentment was while he was stowing some gear in his locker after a workout in the gym. He heard two voices from the other side, speaking too softly to recognize, but not so soft that he couldn't hear the words.

“Sheppard's got to be feeding him the answers.”

“Or sleeping with him,” the other voice sniggered. “Maybe it's a menage a trois.”

“Naw, everybody knows Mitchell's a straight arrow.”

“Not Sheppard?”

“Are you kidding? After A-stan, Sheppard would sleep with anything that breathed. And Lorne's a bona fide DADT.”

“Fuckin' fairy won't last in this program.”

“Damn straight.” The locker doors banged shut.

All in Cam that was good and strong rose up. He had his shortcomings but prejudice wasn’t one of them. He moved silently to the end of the row of lockers, and emerged in full Colonel mode. “You fellas really ought to check around to see who’s in earshot before you start making accusations against other officers, all of whom rank you … including, me. In case you don't know who I am, I am Lieutenant _Colonel_ Cameron Mitchell – the _straight_ arrow, and I will go to your CO with this and demand an apology, in person, to both Major Sheppard and Major Lorne, if I hear one more word from either of you on this subject. You can pass that on to any other empty barrels you might know who are intending to make noise. Is that clear?”

Cam could be intimidating when he chose. He intended to scare the shit out of these two witless idiots and judging from their instant pallor and downcast eyes, he had succeeded. He wasn’t finished.

“Gentlemen, look at me when I'm speaking.” He waited a beat before continuing. “There will come a time when your lives will depend on your fellow pilots and officers. It's not very smart of you to alienate any of them based on assumption and gossip. But then, you're not Sheppard and Lorne. They rank you on all counts, not by just the insignia on their collars.” He left the locker room, using his best parade ground stride.

All the way back to the condo, he ran through the two encounters in his mind. Stenson was an asshole, but he had access to information. The two airmen were idiots, but they had the same intel. Cam lived with Sheppard and Lorne, and had never had any reason to believe they were anything but friends. It wasn’t a neat package, and Cam didn’t like loose ends. He swung the car around and went back to the base. As a Colonel, he had certain security protocols which he rarely used, but this time he did.

There was quite a bit on Sheppard’s Afghanistan incident. He’d ignored orders and had flown into heavy fire to rescue a medical team surrounded by Al Qaida guerillas. He retrieved the medics, but as he was exiting the site his chopper was hit by a SAM and went down in a nearby village. Civilians died, as did the medical team he had risked his life to save. Sheppard had walked away with minor injuries.

Cam, haunted by similar ghosts, couldn’t fault Sheppard. He closed the file and moved on to Lorne’s. God, the guy was perfect. A nearly flawless service record, top of his class, marksmanship awards, combat honors, Distinguished Flying Cross, a silver star, purple heart, and Air Force Commendation medals. There was one black mark -- a disciplinary demerit from his Academy days for fighting. Cam grimaced. Yeah, that Lorne was a real cream-puff. It seemed like rumors were born of jealousy, not fact. Case closed as far as he was concerned.

He rubbed his eyes. Tomorrow, they would start training on the real thing. Forget simulators. They’d be in the air. Cam felt a thrill in his stomach. This was what he’d been waiting for.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , like doing barrel rolls at near supersonic speeds and rocketing up into the stratosphere until the only things you could see were the dark blue horizon ahead and the curve of the earth below. It was enough to bring out the cowboy in Cam. On this flight, it just happened that Lorne was his co-pilot, and he heard Evan’s chuckle low and warm in his ear. Adrenaline and something else coiled in Cam’s belly, but he was too psyched to give it a name. It could have been the result of pulling heavy Gs and the excitement of being airborne.

“Man, that is cool!” Cam exclaimed. “What a rush!”

“Just don’t rush us into a greasy spot on the desert floor,” Lorne said drily, and Cam had to laugh out of sheer exhilaration. When they got out of the cockpit and stood on solid ground, he and Lorne grinned at each other like idiots until Cam noticed Sheppard’s absence.” Where’s John?” he asked.

“Up there, I guess.” Lorne looked at the sky where the sound of powerful engines still roared overhead. “I thought we were all supposed to be down.”

“God, I hope that’s not him.” He took off his helmet, ran a hand through his sweat-dark hair.

“Colonel Mitchell, Major Lorne. Sirs, you’re needed for the debriefing,” they were reminded by an airman.

“Let’s not keep the man waiting,” Cam said. Lorne was still looking overhead. Cam tugged at his sleeve. “Sheppard’s a big boy, Evan. What he does isn’t your responsibility.”

“He’s also a friend.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell agreed. “C’mon.”

When they came out of a too long debrief, Sheppard was standing in the hangar being dressed down by a bird Colonel. Cam caught an edge of anger in Sheppard’s responses, but at least it was controlled. He wanted to listen in on the conversation, but lingering in the hall wasn’t an option. Lorne, at his side, was also straining to hear what had Sheppard riled up.

“It’s not our business,” Cam said, despite curiosity and concern.

“It is, if he’s our friend,” Lorne insisted.

Cam hated doing this, but as much as he was about being a free-spirit, he had to stick to regs as part of his duty. “No, major, it isn’t.”

Lorne looked like Cam had thrown a bucket of ice water on him when he brought rank into the equation. “Yes, sir.” He started walking away quickly. Cam cursed and followed though he didn’t say anything until they were out of the hangar and in the bright sun.

“Evan!”

Lorne halted mid-stride and slowly turned. “Sir?”

“Don't do that. It's just me – Cam – not Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell.”

“You pulled rank on me,” Lorne accused, the rebuke evidently still stinging like a slap.

Cam stood, hands on his hips and shook his head. “Yes, I did. You were about to commit career suicide by involving yourself in an argument between two other officers, probably coming in on the wrong side. Sure, John’s my friend, but I’m not sticking my head in where it doesn’t belong. Got it?”

“Is that all, sir?” Lorne was still seething, but at a simmer instead of a full boil.

“No. Sometimes it sucks being the boss.”

Lorne blinked and then raised a brow. “Sucks? Is that official Colonel terminology?”

Cam had to laugh. “Yeah. They teach you that in Colonel school. You have to pass a test and everything.” Evan’s mouth was curving now, and a flash of those dimples left Cam feeling like he had up in the 302. It was unsettling. “Buy you a beer?” he offered to counter what he couldn't, _shouldn't_ be feeling.

“It might take more than one,” Lorne sighed. “What about Sheppard?”

Cam looked over. Whatever it had been, the confrontation seemed to have ended with the Colonel walking away and the flush of anger fading from John’s cheeks. “I’ll text him. Give him some time to decompress. I don’t think he wants to talk to anybody right now.” As if to confirm that, Sheppard slammed his fist into the wall and walked away. He didn't even see Cam and Lorne standing in the desert sun.

“Come on,” Cam said to Evan. “Let’s get out of here and let him settle down.”

John met them at the bar an hour later. His hair was damp from a shower and his mouth was tense. He shredded napkins as they talked, drank a little too much beer and flirted with the forty-something waitress with a hint of desperation in his voice. The three of them, so comfortable with each other, were suddenly like awkward strangers.

Sheppard dug a coin out of his pocket. “I wonder if they have Johnny Cash on the jukebox,” he said, and wandered over, only slightly unsteady.

Lorne looked at his watch. “Listen, I gotta go. I signed up for an hour in the simulator. I'll see you back at the house.” He looked at Cam. “Get Sheppard home safely?”

“Sure. What are friends for?”

“See you later.” Lorne’s hand rested briefly on Cam’s shoulder. His steps were light and fast as he made his way through the crowded room.

“Yeah, later,” Cam whispered. He still felt the warmth of Evan's hand on his skin. He drank the rest of his beer a little too quickly and went over to the jukebox to see what was taking John so damn long to pick out a tune.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cam was dozing in the recliner when Evan came back from his simulator session. He heard the door close, opened one eye, and sat up. “How was it?”

“After the real thing ... no big thrill. You want a beer or something?”

“Water. I’ve been keeping up with Sheppard in the beer department. I’ve had enough ... and so has he.” He stood up and stretched. “We got home, had a few more beers, and he passed out.”

“Did he talk?”

“Drunk, he’s about as chatty as he is sober.”

“So, nothing.”

“Nope.” He trailed after Lorne into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while Evan filled two glasses from the ice-maker and water in the refrigerator door. “I’m gonna miss that thing,” he said.

“Are you leaving?”

“Eventually, we all are. We’ve got, what? Two more weeks?”

“Do you have any idea what happens after that? You being a Colonel and all.”

“Nope. It’s a mystery.” He took the glass from Lorne. Evan’s fingers were warm. Cam pressed his over them, hard bones beneath his grip, warm flesh over the chilly glass. Without breaking the hold, he raised the glass and took a sip.

Lorne’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

Cam wasn't sure what he was doing, he only knew that it felt right to be doing it. Impulsively, he leaned in, tilted his head and brought his cool mouth to Lorne's. It was a remarkably chaste kiss, given the way his heart was pounding and the blood pooling in his groin. For a brief moment, heat flared between them like a match-strike. He set his hands on Lorne’s hips to bring him closer, felt him sway but resist. Cam wasn't certain enough to press the advantage, and Evan pulled away before Cam could even begin to analyze what would happen if he hadn’t.

“You've had too much to drink.” Evan’s voice was as cold as the ice in Cam’s glass.

“Oh, no. I haven't had enough,” Cam rasped. He reached for Lorne's shoulder, but his timing was off and his hand fell foolishly on empty air. “Evan!”

“What?” He was breathing hard, Cam saw the pulse shivering in his throat, the hurt and longing in his eyes.

“I know …”

“Christ! Know what? “That I'm a fucking fairy? That rank has privileges? That DADT doesn't mean shit when the whole fucking world _knows_? What else can you do to me?” Fury blazed in Lorne's blue eyes and he shoved Cam away with both hands. “This better be off the record, _sir_!”

He left the kitchen, slamming the door, heedless of John sleeping down the hall, and not seeing Cam loose his battle with too much beer and shame as he vomited into the sink.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
 _Part 2_

Cam woke while it was still dark, with a throbbing head and the sour taste of old beer and regret in his mouth. He staggered into the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, and drank two big glasses of water, downing three aspirin with the last one, and went back to bed, falling face first into his pillow and out like a light.

The second time he woke, the early sun was just lighting the horizon. His headache had subsided into the background of his brain, and brushing his teeth helped him feel slightly less scummy. It had been a long time between binges for him; he remembered why he had sworn them off the last time. He just hoped he hadn't caused irreparable damage to his friendships with Lorne and Sheppard, though he doubted John's memory of the night was any clearer than his own.

He pulled on his running clothes and shoes and went into the hall. Lorne's door was shut and probably locked, Cam thought ruefully. Sheppard's was slightly open. Cam peered in. The bed was rumpled, but empty. Maybe he'd gone for a head-clearing run, too.

There was a half-empty mug of coffee on the breakfast bar, and the pot was still hot. Cam poured a mug, added a good shot of milk to blunt the acid, drank it down and grabbed a bottle of water. He took off at an easy lope down the road.

An hour later, the sun was already too hot to keep up the pace. He slowed to a jog, then a walk as he approached the condo. His sweatshirt was soaked, but it was already drying in the arid atmosphere of the desert. He filled his water bottle and drank deeply; letting the ice water cool his body core. The mug that had been on the counter was now in the sink. He heard water running from John's bathroom. That answered one question.

He headed towards the patio, intending to sit in the shade and drink his water while he waited for John to finish his shower. Exclusive development or not, the water pressure wasn't up to two showers running at the same time. He reached for the sliders, then stopped.

Evan was poised on the edge of the pool. He wore only swim trunks, and the water beading on his skin glittered in the sun. He was all muscle and tanned skin, lean and strong. He pushed his wet hair back from his face, and instinctively, Cam took a step back before he realized that Lorne couldn't see him through the reflective film on the glass. He stared, not having noticed on a conscious level before that Lorne was drop-dead gorgeous with finely cut features, startlingly blue, long-lashed eyes, and that amazing hard body … Cam's blood pooled hotly in his groin. _I am so fucked_ , he thought. And then with a wry laugh at himself, _I wish_.

Lorne picked up his towel and headed toward the doors, making Cam beat a hasty retreat to his room. He heard John's shower cut off, stripped and stepped into his own; the water shockingly cold at first, and then steaming. He let it pour over him, slicked up his hands and jerked off, his forehead pressed against the tiles and his knees nearly buckling as he climaxed, his semen spurting as hot as the water through his fingers. Physically, it was a release, but it didn't relieve the emptiness he he felt in his heart. He turned off the water, dried off and put on his BDUs. Life went on.

There was no sign of Sheppard, even though the blankets on his bed had been had been pulled up. A pile of clothes lay on the floor in a tangled heap. Cam sighed and closed the bedroom door.

Hunger was gnawing at his stomach. He went into the kitchen and poured cereal and milk into a bowl. He got another mug of coffee and sat at the breakfast bar. A book of F-302 specs was spread out there. He idly flipped through them, admiring the engineering behind the thrill ride.

“It's a work of art.” Lorne's voice made Cam startle, slopping coffee over his hand. He grabbed for a towel, but Lorne was faster and wrapped it around his hand, blotting up the coffee.

“Sorry.” He touched the reddened skin. “That hurt?”

Cam shook his head. “No.” He wanted Lorne to keep touching him, but as soon as he was assured that Cam's burn was slight, Lorne released his wrist.

He sat at the counter and turned towards Cam. “Last night … I was way out of line. I apologize for that. It's not been easy for me, lately. I get defensive.”

Cam shook his head. “No. I was kinda – No, I was _very_ drunk. It makes me do dumb things, which is why I don't drink much, but when I do, I manage to screw things up badly. I’m sorry, Evan.”

“So, last night never happened?”

Cam held out his hand, palm up, but Lorne didn't accept the invitation. Cam sighed. “It happened. I don't know why or how, but I'm not going to shrug it off and pretend it was nothing. It was _something_. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I _can_ do. I've lost friends to circumstances I can't control. I don't want to lose any more because I acted rashly, without thinking. It's my besetting sin, and I've paid for it. ”

The silence stretched out, and Cam's hand was still open, waiting for Lorne's response. He could see the wheels turning in Lorne's mind as his eyes changed from stormy blue to the color of the Arizona sky. He finally put his hand in Cam's, in friendship. “Maybe we should just back burner it for a while,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Cam wasn't aware he had been holding his breath until he needed to draw one to reply. “'Slow cookin,' as my grandma used to say, 'makes the best eatin'.”

Evan laughed at that, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Cam felt the knot in his stomach begin to relax until Evan asked the inevitable question. “Where's John?”

“I don't know. I heard his shower running this morning and his bed is kind of made up, but I haven't seen him. He must have gone in early.”

“This is his book,” Lorne said.

“Aw, crap. I hope he isn't doing what I think he is.”

Evan looked at his watch. “We have to get to the airfield. We're scheduled for another live flight this morning.”

Cam pushed away from the counter. “I'm on it. Your Jeep or my Mustang?”

“Mustang. We're running late.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

They arrived at the airfield in time to hear the now-familiar rumble of an F-302 in low flight. Cam grabbed a pair of binoculars and tilted his head upwards until he located the jet. “There.” He handed them to Lorne, who mirrored his actions. Cam grabbed another pair of binoculars and they watched as the pilot of the 302 made a series of graceful rolls and turns before climbing higher until it was just a tiny glitter at the head of a contrail. The vapor scribed loops against the cloudless sky before it began a steep descent.

“Holy crap!” Cam uttered in awe. “He is crazy.”

“Crazy good. Watch him. God, it's beautiful.” The 302 suddenly swooped low, the engines whining and blasting up a cloud of dust on the runway, then made another steep climb, executing more maneuvers that Cam hadn't believed possible, before it slowed and hovered, graceful as a hummingbird, making a perfect 3-point landing on the strip. The hood popped open and Sheppard climbed out. He raised his goggles, took off his helmet and thrust his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He was grinning like a school-boy.

“Hey,” he said. “It's about time.”

“Sheppard, you are so screwed,” Cam said. “What the hell was that?”

John shrugged. “That was my last flight in an F-302. I'm outta here.” He started brushing past Cam, who caught his arm.

“What have you done?” he demanded.

“I resigned.”

“You could be court-martialed for this stunt!”

“Easy, Colonel. I had permission for one last flight – as long as it was my last flight. I told the CO that if they wanted test pilots, they should let us be test pilots, not toddlers. We don't even know what these planes can do, and they can do a hell of a lot more than they're letting on.” He handed Cam his gauntlets and helmet. “I'd better report to the CO before he has the MPs throw me off the base. I'll see you back at the house.” He walked away with a jaunty stride; like the weight of the world was off his shoulders.

Cam threw the gloves to the ground. “Shit!” He looked at Lorne. “Let's suit up and get this over with.”

Their flight that morning was a lot more subdued than it had been the day before, and was called down early due to an approaching storm front. Cam already felt like a feather in the wind. Two days ago he had been on physical and emotional terra firma, now the ground was crumbling under his feet. He was losing one of his best friends, and falling in love with the other. None of it made any sense at all.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Later, with the windows open to the cool desert air, they sat in John's room while he packed. He was throwing things rather haphazardly into a large duffel bag and not saying a whole lot. He stuffed in a wad of socks and stood with his hands on his hips. “Listen, just because I'm leaving, doesn't mean you have to vacate the place. Stay as long as you like. My dad doesn't give a damn as long as the place isn't trashed.”

“That's the last thing on my mind,” Cam said. “Why did you quit? That's a career-ending move, John.”

“I didn't _quit_. I _resigned_ from the F-302 program. I'm still in the Air Force, I'm just going back to what I do best.”

“You were the best pilot in the program.” Lorne looked up at John from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. “You could make that plane do things even the brass didn't know it could do. God, I envy you that!”

“Yeah, like you're a real washout as a fighter pilot, Lorne.” He rolled up a set of iPod earbuds. “I'm not … I'm not good at this team thing; being a wingman and flying for everybody else. It was torture up there – having all this power at my fingertips and having to harness it in when I wanted to go full-throttle and rocket up into orbit. It wasn't enough. Sooner or later, I'd have gotten somebody killed.”

“Where can you go where that won't happen?” Cam asked quietly. “It's a risk we all take.”

“Which is why I like flying helicopters in remote areas where if I kill anybody, it'll most likely be myself.” He must have seen Cam flinch. “I'm not that far gone, Mitchell, so stop looking like this is a death sentence.”

“How remote?” Lorne tossed a surfing magazine over to the bed.

“First to Peterson to take some refresher classes on flying Osprey and Blackhawk choppers in extreme environments, and from there to McMurdo.”

“Jesus, Sheppard. Why banish yourself to frozen Hell?”

John shrugged. “Why not? It's the one continent I haven't set foot on yet. And don't diss McMurdo. You might end up there one day.” He looked around, checking for items he might need and saw nothing that mattered but his friends. “Well, this sucks.” He zipped up the duffel. “C'mon. Let's have a few beers out on the patio. It's not like we're never gonna see each other again.”

But maybe it was, Cam thought. He looked at Evan and saw his sadness reflected in his face. He'd play along with Sheppard. He levered himself up off the chair. “Sounds like a plan.” He held his hand out to Lorne. Evan looked surprised, but he took Cam's hand and let his strength pull him upright.

They got beers and went out to the patio. A full moon illuminated the desert and the stars of the Milky Way glittered overhead like diamonds caught in a net. They stood with their arms resting on the top rail of the fence. John, standing in between Cam and Lorne, hooked his arms around their shoulders and they gazed up at the worlds beyond imagining. _But not beyond reach …_

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
 _Part 5_

Sheppard was gone by the time Cam and Lorne were up the next morning. The house seemed empty without his kinetic energy to fill the space. Even the weather had turned unaccountably sullen with gusty winds and gray skies overhead. They drove to the base separately since it was Cam's turn to have a late day session in the simulator, and once again, real flights were cancelled due to the inclement weather.

They were nearly finished with the classroom component of the course; only one test remained to determine their final seeding in the assignment schedule. Where that assignment was and what it would be remained a closely guarded secret. Meanwhile, speculations ranged from the establishment of bases on the moon to using the F-302's tactical advantages to defend against terrorism on a global scale. Cam wasn't so sure about either of those, but he preferred to keep his eyes on the prize. However, he couldn't blame Sheppard for losing patience with the program; another two weeks of inaction would tempt him to do the same. He was ready to close the books and get in the air.

He tried his damnedest to concentrate that morning in class, but his eyes kept going to Lorne. He was bent over his notebook, filling the pages with tiny, neat scrip. For the first time, Cam noticed the drawings in the margins. Aside from the expected schematics Lorne had sketched what looked like a cactus in bloom, a hawk in flight with its wings and feathers incredibly detailed and no larger than a quarter, a tiny caricature of John, all angles and spiky hair giving a thumbs-up gesture of approval. One of himself in profile, his head bent over a page, studying. Amazing stuff, Cam thought. He knew Evan painted, but he'd never intruded into the studio. Obviously, his wasn't a paint-by-numbers talent.

The lights dimmed as the instructor began a PowerPoint lecture, and Lorne was lost to the shadows. Cam turned his attention to the screen. By the end of the lecture, his head was screaming. He was out of the room as soon as the lights came up figuring that if anybody asked anything important, Lorne would fill him in later. He took two migraine tablets and found a relatively quiet corner of the cafeteria to sit with his head down. Two hours in the flight simulator weren't likely to improve things, either, but he needed the hours to finish up the course requirements.

“You look like the five miles of bad road,” Lorne said. He slid into the chair across from Cam. “Headache?”

“Big time.” He opened one eye. “You should go home.”

“And what? Study? I've been doing that for the last three hours and I'm beat. What about you?”

“Flight simulator at six.”

“Yeah, that'll help your headache.”

“I need the hours.”

“You need a hot shower, food and a cup of strong coffee.”

Cam pushed himself upright with an effort. Lorne was right. “You win, doc.” He got up from the table, and to his surprise, Lorne followed him down the hall to the gym. Cam grabbed clean BDUs from his locker and went into the showers. He stripped, turned the taps on hot and let the water wash down his neck and back. His eyes were closed against the spray and the hiss on his scalp drowned out other sounds. When he moved back and wiped his eyes clear, he was startled to find he wasn't alone.

Evan was standing under the shower two taps down from Cam. His body was sheeted with water and suds from his shampoo. Cam watched mesmerized as the soap glided down muscles and skin, over the crest of his hips and down taut buttocks. Naked, he looked like a sculpture of a Greek god by Praxiteles; compact, graceful, athletic. The froth of bubbles cascaded across his chest and abs, and slid down to his shadowed groin. Cam turned away, not ready to yield to attraction, not ready for seduction; not sure that Lorne intended either.

He purposely turned down the hot water for a hit of cold, then shut off the faucets. He snagged his towel from the bench just outside the showers, wrapping it around his waist and heading towards the lockers.

By the time Evan emerged a few minutes later, Cam was mostly dressed except for his shirt and boots. He felt the heat rising in his face and bent over to lace them up, hoping to disguise his blush.

“Better?” Evan asked.

“Yeah.” Cam's voice cracked. “It was a good suggestion. Thanks.”

“Ready for step two of the Evan Lorne headache recovery plan?”

“Step two?” He looked up. Lorne was pulling his black tee shirt over his head, giving Cam a nice glimpse of rock-hard abs.

“You know … food?”

“Sounds good.”

“That depends on what's on the menu.” Lorne's acerbic tone made Cam grimace. He pulled on his shirt, completely missing the cat with the canary look on Lorne's face from knowing Cam had seen everything he was and had found it worth watching.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cam unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “Mom, I'm home,” he called out. Thanks to Lorne's “cure” he felt halfway decent and was ready for a beer out on the patio. There wasn't a response. Cam tossed his keys on the counter and peered through the door. The patio and pool were deserted.

“Evan?” He spoke softly into the darkness, not wanting to intrude if Lorne were painting or studying. No answer.

He went into the great room. The only light came from the flickering screen of the TV. The sound was muted, and the Diamondbacks were finishing up the ninth inning with a five run lead. Evan was sleeping on the couch, dead to the world. Cam took the remote from his lax fingers and turned the TV off. He went back to the kitchen for a beer and turned on a lamp, dimming it to low, before he sat in the big leather chair he'd claimed as his own when he moved in a month ago. Hard to believe the six weeks were nearly up. He sighed and stretched his legs out on the ottoman.

He had some thinking to do, and he wasn't sure that watching Lorne as he slept would help him reach any logical conclusion. But then, it wasn’t going to hurt, either. Lorne never looked vulnerable; his features were too strong for that, his brows drawn level and determined even in sleep. Cam had seen him laugh, though. He had seen him watching John with concern, and had borne the brunt of the hurt and longing in his eyes the other night, even as his anger had flared out at him. He knew that when Lorne smiled those damn dimples came out to captivate and charm. And there was that body ... Cam wasn’t under any illusion that Lorne was innocent or that he hadn’t been aware of his impact on Cam that afternoon. But he hadn’t pushed, he hadn’t made a move, almost as if he sensed Cam’s ambivalence.

Ambivalent. That's a word to go with confused, wanting, needing ... Cam sighed. He’d spent a good part of his life feeling one or the other of those emotions over his sexual orientation. He came from a four-generation military family with traditions extending from WWI, to Vietnam, to his own service. He’d grown up in Kansas with a bible-thumping grandmother who was a product of her own generation and prejudices. He’d watched his own classmates work over a kid who they called “a fairy,” and even though he had come to the kid’s defense, he’d said it was because they’d get in trouble, not because he wanted to admit any empathy for the victim.

But he _had_ empathized. As long as he could remember, he’d found other males, other male bodies, far more intriguing than women’s. In denial, and to protect his image as the BMOC, he had dated serially, had sex because it was what star athletes did, and was beyond relieved when he was accepted into the Air Force Academy because it got him out of the claustrophobic small town atmosphere where every action had been scrutinized and cause for gossip. The academy gave him a chance for a fresh start despite the inherent prejudice against gays, as well as allowing him the relative anonymity of a larger world.

In order to survive, he built emotional walls, high and strong, and locked his secret inside. He continued his sporadic dating and used class work and athletics as his outlets. He’d excelled, graduating near the top of his class and advancing up the ranks quickly. After that, there had been war, and who the hell gave a crap about getting laid when getting out alive had been so much more important?

He wouldn’t deny he had been lonely -- achingly lonely. Then Evan Lorne had opened the door and Cam’s walls had tumbled down. His head dropped against the back of his chair and he sighed.

“Tired?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Cam apologized.

Evan sat up, rotating his shoulders. “Naw, I’m good. What time is it?”

“Late enough.”

Lorne’s eyes narrowed at Cam’s diffidence. “Okay, I’m getting a weird vibe here so I'm just going to be honest. Cam, earlier – the shower thing – I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”

“No! God, no! Not freaked out at all. You’re ... you’re amazing.” Cam rose and thrust his fingers through his short hair. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure ... umm. Do I need a drink for this?”

Cam gave a short laugh. “I think that depends on your answer. Evan, I was wondering ... are you out? I mean, not in the Air Force, obviously, but to your family?”

Lorne’s brows peaked. “Yeah, since forever.”

“No big thing?”

Lorne gave him a wry smile. “My parents are artists ... in San Francisco. My godparents? Two of the greatest _guys_ in the world. When I was sixteen my mom asked if I liked girls. I said they were okay as friends, but I thought the guy down the street was pretty hot. I asked if that was all right. She laughed, kissed my cheek and said that was fine with her. Same with my dad. They gave me more grief over my application to the Academy.”

Cam looked at him. “God, do you know how lucky you are?”

“You got that right.” He stood up restlessly. “I’m gonna get something stronger than beer to drink. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.” He left and returned with the bottle of liquor and two glasses with ice. He poured two fingers in each and handed one to Cam. “So, I guess your folks don't know?”

Cam shook his head. “I'm from Kansas, the freaking Bible-belt. They don't take too kindly to gays – at least not the town I'm from. I know … I _know_ my folks would accept me no matter what, but I couldn't do that to them.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Self-flagellation is counter-productive.”

“What?”

“You’re beating yourself up over things you can’t control -- where you come from, how you were raised, what other people think -- by DADT. Man, you can’t live like that.”

Cam felt a surge of anger and pain. “Well, I _have_ been living like that! And doing a damn fine job of it.” He didn’t sound particularly convincing.

“Come on! When was the last time you were with somebody?”

“Isn’t that a little personal?”

Lorne was a past master at using humor to deflect pointed barbs flung his way. He wasn’t thrown off track by Cam’s lame attempt. “Seriously.”

That Cam had to think about it was a bad sign. “A long time,” he admitted. He took a deep swallow of whiskey. “Too long. But I don’t see that I have any options. Leave the Air Force? Leave my family? Leave everything behind that defines _me!_? For what?”

Lorne, with his hands on his hips, was the picture of exasperation. “God, you really don’t get it. Look at me. I wear the same uniform you do. I fight for my country, and I’ll die for it. I’ll die for you and for any soldier fighting alongside me if I have to. That will _always_ come first. That is what defines me. Not who I choose to sleep with.”

“You said things have been difficult for you.”

Lorne shrugged. “I've got a pretty thick skin. As soon as some of these macho assholes learn I'm an artist, they start making assumptions.” He grinned. “I just never let on that they're right. It ain't easy, but it beats the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“C-4,” he deadpanned.

Cam had to laugh. “Damn, Evan! I'm spilling my guts here and you're cracking bad jokes.”

Lorne's eyes were reflecting the dim light; his smile was deepening his dimples. Cam had a sudden flashback to that afternoon in the shower and he decided he'd done enough thinking, and more than enough dodging the issue that night. He set his glass down and rose from the chair. He crossed to Lorne in one long stride and slid his arm around his hard waist. He hesitated for a breath, watched Evan's pupils dilate, then bent his head.

This time, there was no hesitation. Lorne grabbed his shoulders, holding him close, one warm palm burning down the bare skin of his forearm like a brand. Cam gasped against Evan's lips. He yielded, letting Cam's tongue breach his mouth. Their hands were everywhere; grasping, tugging at clothes that were a frustrating barrier between skin touching skin. Finally, Cam got a solid hold on the hem of Lorne's tee-shirt and yanked it over his head. When Evan stepped back and started to unbutton his jeans, Cam stripped off his own clothes, waiting until they were both naked to look at him.

Cam's heart was pounding, and he could see Lorne's chest rising and falling rapidly. They were young, strong men; not perfect, Cam thought, aware of his scars and his rangy frame. It was a hazard of their lives. Lorne had his own scars. Cam hadn't noticed them before, maybe because he'd been so determined not to look too long or too hungrily. He touched a deep score along Lorne's ribcage, felt him flinch a little. “Bullet?” he asked.

“Knife. Somali rebel.”

“Shit.” He drew his thumb across Lorne's mouth. “You should be more careful.”

Lorne nipped at the pad of Cam’s thumb. “Ha-ha. We'll talk about that later.” He stepped in and the feel of his body, his skin, his muscles pressed against Cam's nearly made him pass out. He didn't know what to do next, what Evan wanted or needed.

Evan, it seemed, knew. He knelt and held Cam, his hands just above the hard ridge of his iliac crest, the bone a little raw without excess flesh to soften it. His breath brushed against skin, stirred the dark curly hair at his groin. Cam shuddered, his hands going to clasp the back of Lorne's head, holding him in a silent plea for intimacy. Lorne cupped Cam's ass. He licked the length of his cock, swirling his tongue over the head, lapping at the bead of come, then sucking him off until Cam's entire body was shaking.

Evan gave Cam a slight shove, backing him against the couch cushions until his knees buckled and he was sitting. He kissed Cam, his mouth both bitter and sweet; a melding of their tastes that made Cam weak. He hadn’t known it could be like this. His encounters had been in darkness or in the harsh lights of public bathrooms. Places men went for a quick, impersonal fuck or blow job. None of them involved kissing like this, feeling like this. Cam was overwhelmed, physically and emotionally. He broke the kiss, suddenly breathless. “Wait,” he said, fighting for space. “Just --”

“What do you want?” Evan asked fiercely. “Tell me!” His arms were braced on either side of Cam’s shoulders.

“I want to slow down.” The words were thick in his throat. “I want, Jesus --” Lorne’s hand was wrapped around his cock and he couldn’t think. “Just a breath.”

Lorne took one more kiss, sucking the sensitive flesh of Cam’s inner lip, then slowly releasing it. “Take it,” he said. His thumbs stroked down Cam’s jaw. “I’ll be back.”

Cam closed his eyes and listened to the throb of his pulse. He was at a tipping point. He could retreat, or let himself fall. It wasn’t in his nature to surrender. He’d never played on the safe side. If he had, he’d be flying supply missions, not pointing the nose of an F-302 at the stars. Risk and gambles had never made him back away from what he wanted, and judging from the way his body was reacting, right now, he wanted Lorne. Their mingled taste still lingered on his tongue, tempting and tantalizing, promising so much more. He sank back on the couch, lying full length, waiting and very ready to step off the cliff of his past.

Lorne came back to the great room. Still naked, he was at ease in his skin. He stood over Cam.“Better?”

“Better. Come here,” he held out his hand and tugged Evan down to the couch. Lorne tore the foil from a condom. Cam captured his hand. “I’m not a virgin, but I’m clean.”

Lorne’s lips quirked wryly. “Yeah. But you’re not the one who was sliced up with a Somali knife that didn’t quite meet surgical standards. It’s been more than six months, but I’m not taking any chances.” He drew the backs of his knuckles down Cam’s stubbled cheek. “Not with you.”

Cam shivered. Somehow, that Lorne would do that for him, was more erotic than any foreplay. “Give it to me.” He plucked the condom from Lorne’s hand. “Lie down. I want to cover you.”

Lorne’s shaft throbbed in his hand. Cam bent his head to taste him again. He wanting to breathe in the scent of the velvety skin. His stubble rasped against Lorne’s cock and he felt the contraction ripple through the muscles of his abdomen. Cam tasted the moisture that welled at the tip, rolled the rubber on, then kissed his way to Lorne’s mouth.

“Lube -- coffee table,” Evan’s voice was shaking.

“You are _so_ prepared.” Cam laughed softly.

“SF training. Like this.” His body twisted, and Cam found himself supine, looking up into Lorne’s blue eyes. Lorne squeezed a mess of lube on the glass coffee table and slicked up his fingers. “You sure about this?”

“Stop talking,” Cam ordered. He grabbed Lorne’s wrist and guided him to where he wanted to be touched. The gel was cold. Cam didn’t care as long as Lorne’s hands were on him. He felt the pressure of a finger seeking entrance and he shifted to give Lorne a better angle. Two fingers, then three, and Lorne was shuddering with the effort of holding back until Cam was ready for him.

Cam willed his muscles to relax. He touched himself, felt his flesh responding, and he knew he could have jerked himself off if Lorne hadn’t been watching him, his face both fierce and tender. He kissed Cam; a gentle inquiry without words and Cam nodded. “Now ... now.”

The burn and stretch made him bite his lip to keep from crying out. He had forgotten how the first moments of pain took his breath away. He had forgotten, or perhaps he had never known, that the pain was followed by a sensation as sharp as a shard of glass drawn across skin.

Lorne moved in him, and the glass shattered. He thrust his hips up to meet Lorne’s and bring him deeper into his body. Evan’s erection touched his prostate and he must have seen the shock in Cam’s eyes, because he moved, and paused, holding them both on the brink of climax. In that instant, Cam’s vision had never been so clear, so edged with light; as if a film had been torn from his eyes. “Move,” he said. Lorne’s hips shifted. He took his hand away from Cam’s cock, smearing lube and come between them. Cam smoothed the dark, damp tendrils away from Evan's face, then pulled in into a deep kiss, his tongue stroking in a rhythm that mirrored the movement of their bodies. Lorne found the sweet spot, raking it again and again until Cam’s spine bowed up. Evan went rigid, his throat thrown back, his eyes closed. He was impossibly beautiful; flushed and vulnerable, his long dark lashes fluttering as he lost control. Cam felt the heat of Lorne’s semen through the thin rubber and the rush of his own ejaculation between their bodies as they climaxed, and then he didn't feel anything but a long fall into pure sensation. Cam wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d been fucked senseless. Or loved into oblivion ...

Cam’s sweat cooled on his skin and the scent of sex hung in the air. Evan’s body was lax and heavy on his but he didn’t move. Cam tugged the edge of an afghan off the back of the couch. He covered them both, shifted just enough to bring their bodies into a more comfortable alignment and went to sleep.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 _Part6_  
   
The classroom portion of the training course ended two days later with a written exam and a simulator test. Lorne scored a half-point higher on the written exam; Cam a half point higher on the simulator test. They finished in a tie at the top of the class. Cam said he would have tied Evan on the exam, but he had been slightly distracted … which made Lorne blush and Cam ridiculously happy.  
   
The next ten days were a blur as the hands-on training took on an intensity and urgency which made them all realize the gravity of their assignment. As the luck of the draw had it, the pilots were split into teams alphabetically. It seemed unfair to Cam that he and Lorne, who had an undeniable chemistry on so many levels, were separated by mere letters and on opposite rotations. The first week, Cam flew mornings, Evan evenings. Then they flipped.  
   
Cam was getting tired of quick kisses and brief touches. After their incendiary first encounter, he wanted _more_ : more time, more exploration, more knowledge of Evan, body and soul. And, of course, the weather refused to cooperate with his wishes by being perfect for flying. So he flew, and racked up an unbelievable number of points, keeping his eye on Evan's, seeing his name at the top of the daily roster, only a few points behind Cam's own.  
   
Finally, a cold front came through, bringing with it storms that grounded the training flights. Only in the Southwest could a cold front mean temps dropping into the 80s, Cam thought as he pulled off his helmet and let the breeze ruffle his sweat-dark hair. He looked around to see if Lorne's group had arrived, and found Evan standing by an F-302 with another airman. Things seemed calm, but Cam saw the dangerous knot at Evan's jaw, and the tension in his hands as they clenched and unclenched. Trouble. Just what they needed. Cam strode over.  
   
“Hey, fellas. We got a break. Let's take advantage of it and get out of here.” Then he realized that the other airman was one of the assholes he'd reprimanded that first week. Something inside of him coiled and made him feel a little sick. “Evan, you ready?”  
   
The airman glared at Lorne. “Don't let me keep you from your hot date, _Evan_.” His voice was venomous. “Freakin' fairy,” he muttered.  
   
“That's 'freakin' fairy, _Sir_ ', Captain Taylor.” Cam drew himself up to his full height, commanding attention. “Captain, we are going to pay a visit to the CO, but before we do, take a good look at that F-302. It's the last one you'll ever fly.” His voice was icy, his eyes narrowed and hard.  
   
“Colonel Mitchell, it's all right,” Evan said. “It's his opinion, that's all.” But he still looked like he had been gut-punched.  
   
Cam spoke low and intense. “No, it's not all right. One of these days he is going to hesitate on a mission because of his prejudices and people are going to die. That's not happening on my watch. Taylor, with me. Major Lorne, take care of this bird. When that's done, you're off duty.” He allowed his voice to soften slightly before he marched Taylor over to the hangar.  
   
^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
By the time he finished arguing his case to the base CO and filled out the requisite paperwork, the shadows were growing long and Cam's muscles felt like he had been tied in knots and dragged over the rugged landscape.  
   
He pulled up the driveway and sat resting his head on the steering wheel for a moment before climbing stiffly out of the car. Inside, the condo was cool and silent. Cam wandered down the hall towards the bedroom Evan used as a studio. He still hadn't trespassed despite a growing curiosity. The door was usually closed, but tonight it was slightly ajar. Cam, too tired to fight off temptation, went inside. There was a pile of sketches on the bed and he leafed through them, marveling at Lorne's skill. He played light and shadow like a master; desert landscapes that were as desolate as the moon in one sketch looked like fantasy castles in another. A few weeks ago they had made a trip to Sedona and Lorne had sketched the red rocks with pastel chalks. He could have sold them in a gallery -- at least to Cam's untrained eyes -- they were that good.

The last sheet was a sketch of him from that day in Sedona. He was shirtless, standing with one booted foot up on a boulder, looking at an amazing sight -- the red sun setting and the silver moon rising over a rock formation. Lorne had captured every shadow, every rise of muscle and ripple of bone on Cam's skin. Somehow, he had even drawn the yearning lean of Cam's body as he gazed upwards to the skies. Evan had seen him not only with the eyes of an artist, but with the eyes of a lover. In Lorne's eyes, he was beautiful.  
   
Cam set the sketch down and put the others back in place. He stood at the patio doors. The pool was still as glass, but the whirlpool at the far end was bubbling, and Evan's dark head rested against the rim. _What the hell,_ Cam thought. He changed into his swim trunks and went outside. He slid into the warm water. "You mind if I join you?" Cam asked.  
   
"It's your place as much as mine," Evan replied. He kept his eyes focused on the horizon.

“You’re still pissed at me,” Cam said. “I was only doing my job.”

"You don't have to fight my battles for me, Cam. I've been holding my own for a while now and I don't need a protector."  
   
"I know that," Cam said. "It wasn't you I was protecting." Lorne's brows quirked and he looked at Cam for the first time. His expression was one of amused skepticism. "Okay. It _was_ you, and maybe, myself. But what I said was the truth. A guy like Taylor can't be trusted. He's dangerous."  
   
"So, what happened?"  
   
"For one, Taylor really is a piece of work. Mine wasn't the first formal complaint against him. He's also not fond of women in the military, or just about any other minority you can name. I didn't even have to get specific. The CO pulled his file. He said Taylor was on his way out for being a failure to work with a team to accomplish an objective. My complaint was just the nail in his coffin."  
   
"Kind of makes you wonder how he got into the program to begin with."  
   
"He's a good pilot. Too bad he's such a crappy human being. But he's gone. Which means next week we get to fly together again."  
   
Lorne smiled. "I missed that."  
   
"That's not the only thing I missed," Cam said and held out his hand. "Come here."

“You think I’m easy or something?” Lorne smirked.

“Or something.” Cam leaned back and spread his arms in invitation. Evan’s eyes reflected the deep blue of the sky overhead and the last red glimmer of the sunset. He looked dangerous, tempting. He ducked beneath the bubbling water and came up between Cam’s legs.

His hair was slicked back. Water beaded on his lashes and slid in rivulets down his smooth chest. Cam’s hands slipped down wet skin. He lapped up the side of Lorne’s neck, teased his ear. He felt Evan panting softly; warm, moist breath on his cheek, then a shock as his fingers deftly untied the drawstring of his trunks and hooked the elastic, pulling his trunks down. Cam lifted his hips to allow Lorne to finish the job before he returned the favor, stripping off Lorne’s trunks.

Skin on skin, warmth against warmth. Cam held Evan’s face between his palms. Laughter was in his eyes, tipping the corners of his mouth. Cam kissed him hungrily; tongues sliding and tangling, exploring. God, Evan tasted so good. And even though Cam had initiated the kiss, he was the one who was seduced. Evan’s lips trailed down his throat, sucking softly on the hard ridge of Cam’s clavicle as his fingers teased his nipples into hardness. Cam bent his head, tasting the wet sweetness of Evan's skin; fresh and masculine, as smooth as satin beneath his lips and tongue.

He heard the ragged catch of desire in Evan's throat.“Slow down,” Cam whispered. “Make it last.” He turned Lorne’s body, wrapped his arms around him. His fingers cupped Evan’s balls. They were silent, floating in water that bubbled between and around them. Evan’s flesh rested in his hands, his ass rubbed Cam’s cock softly. It couldn’t last. One move from either of them and it would flare into full arousal, but at this moment, they remained suspended on the cusp of surrender. It was the sweetest sensation Cam had ever known. He looked down at Evan, his head tipped back against Cam’s shoulder, his mouth a bit lax, his eyes half-closed, his breathing measured, controlled.

Cam brushed the edge of his fingernail against Lorne’s right nipple, felt it peak, felt the blood warm and harden Evan’s cock. Cam felt his own erection swell. Evan moved, lifting himself slightly to one side to allow Cam’s finger access to his body. The water was warm and he was so relaxed that he was ready and open. Cam slid inside his body easily. He moved his hips and worked Lorne’s penis with his hand. Evan shuddered, his muscles contracted around Cam, their bodies moved in the age-old rhythm and Lorne uttered a cry of completion just as Cam ejaculated in his body.

When they could breathe again, when Cam slipped reluctantly away from Evan and the night grew still, Evan turned to face Cam. He kissed him, tasting of chlorine and salt, then sighed. “We shouldn't have done that.”

Cam laughed. “Oh, yeah. I think we had to. It's a little late for second thoughts.”

“No, I should have stopped you. What if --”

Cam tipped Evan's chin upwards with one fingertip. “Evan, it was my responsibility to stop you, and I didn't. It's been six months, right? Isn't that a big enough safe zone? I mean it's not like you were having unprotected sex with the guy.”

“It was _Africa_! The population is riddled with AIDS and HIV.” He shivered as he said the words.

“I'll take my chances. Look at me,” he urged. “Tomorrow, we're going to get in a virtually untested F-302 and take it into freakin' orbit! That's risk. I spent two years in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I came back alive. That's risk. Loving you? Not so much. I'm less freaked out about that than driving in rush hour traffic.”

Evan's eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“I said I was more freaked out about driving in traffic …” He stopped, recalling his words. “Than … loving you ...” As the words trailed off, he realized they were true. He didn't know if Evan felt the same way. He was awfully quiet. “You can take that however you want,” he said finally. “I'm not pretending I didn't say it.”

A smile teased the corners of Lorne's mouth. “So, if I were to say that I'm not freaked about about loving you, either. You'd be okay with that?”

Cam drew a finger down the crease of Lorne's dimple. “Yeah … real okay.” He leaned in for a kiss. “If it helps, I'll get tested.”

Evan nodded. “I went back to the clinic two days ago. Still negative.”

“Then let's back-burner that issue. We've got other things to think about right now. Like orbital flight, like that it's getting damn chilly out here and you're starting to shiver.”

Lorne climbed out and grabbed their towels. He draped Cam's over his shoulders and Cam folded Evan in his arms. They looked out at the desert and up to the sky. The night stillness was broken by the yips of coyotes and small night sounds. Overhead, the sky seemed impossibly huge, the stars innumerable. Cam sighed. He had the world in his arms, and that was enough for tonight. “Let's go inside.”

“Think it's cold enough for a fire?” Evan asked.

“Oh, I think we can build one,” Cam whispered against his ear, nipping gently at the lobe.

Lorne laughed. “You know there are about ten different replies I could make and they'd all end up at the same place.”  
“Really?”

“For a smart man, you're a little slow on the uptake sometimes,” Lorne said, with a sidelong teasing glance. He slid his arm around Cam's waist.

“Slow gets you there just as good as fast and usually better.”

“Yeah, I'll remind you about that tomorrow when we 'slip the surly bonds of earth.'”

Cam halted mid-stride and turned to face Evan. “' _And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings. Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of ..._ '” He blushed, looked away. “It's my dad's favorite poem.”

“It's what we do,” Lorne said softly. “It's what we are.”

Cam kissed him once more, and they went inside where a fire was laid on the hearth.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cam’s first thought as he looked down on Earth was that it really was like a big blue marble suspended in space. He and Evan were cocooned in the cockpit of an F-302, in low orbital flight. Evan had drawn the long straw and was the pilot, which gave Cam the opportunity to tear his eyes away from the instrument panel and look around. He reached over and tapped Evan’s shoulder. “I’ll take the comm. Your turn to be a space tourist.”

Evan gave him the thumbs up and Cam grinned. He knew Evan was drinking it all in; the black sky around them, the incredible swath of the Milky Way galaxy wrapping like a diamond shawl around the sky, the world below them. There was a hurricane brewing off the coast of Africa and numerous swaths of clouds over the midwestern US. But the jut of the Florida peninsula and the long California coast were clear. Green lands, brown deserts, all the shades of blue in the ocean: yeah, Lorne would be looking at it with his artist’s eye, seeing in his mind what he could set on canvas.

 _Blue leader, time to come in,_ the voice in his ear ordered. Cam gave another tap on Lorne’s shoulder and he nodded. “I heard.”

Re-entry, as they said, was a bitch. Lorne seemed unfazed by the experience. He had a light hand on the stick, always controlled, always aware of the power of the F-302, but not in awe of it. His landing was a thing of beauty; so deftly managed that Cam scarcely felt the soft bump as the nose gear came to rest on the tarmac. John would have preferred plummeting like a comet and pulling up at the last minute. His landing would have been as graceful, but his co-pilot would lose his lunch on his lap.

Lorne popped the canopy and they got out, taking off their helmets to reveal identical idiotic grins. “That was ...” Cam paused, at a loss for words.

“Better than sex?” Lorne supplied, his eyes and dimples dancing with laughter.

“Better than _some_ sex.” He glanced around, leaned in. “But not all.” His fingertip just grazed the inside of Evan's wrist. “I may need a refresher later.”

Evan was about to make a reply when an airman hurried over. “Sorry, sirs. You're wanted in the Commander's Office.”

“Okay, what did we do wrong?” Cam muttered.

“I can think of about six things,” Lorne said. His mouth tightened.

“No, can't be that. Even if Taylor decided to talk, he's been pretty thoroughly discredited. This has to be something else.” Or so Cam hoped. They'd been discreet, but sometimes Cam felt that the invisible jolt of heat between them must be visible to all on-lookers.

They went into the office and stood at attention in front of the CO. He looked up from a stack of envelopes on his desk and smiled at them. Cam's nerves subsided. “At ease, gentlemen. You haven't done a damn thing wrong, which is why you're here. We have a guest.” He pressed the intercom button. “Sergeant Feeny, tell General Hammond we're ready.”

“Ready?” Cam asked, getting no reply. A general with more medals pinned on his barrel chest than Cam could count, came into the office. He was bald, impressive, and had a _basso profundo_ voice that he pitched softly to keep from overwhelming the small room.

“Colonel Mitchell, Major Lorne, it is a pleasure to meet you. Colonel Raines has had nothing but praise for your exceptional work here at Luke. As the top trainees in your group, it is my pleasure to extend to you an offer to work in what is perhaps the most unusual and vital arm of the United States Air Force. Right now, there is a flight waiting to take us to the Cheyenne Mountain complex in Colorado Springs. Are you read for the opportunity of a lifetime?”

What could they say but yes?

^*^*^*^*^*^

The flight home was the longest Cam had ever taken. Evan sat next to him, silent and preoccupied. It wasn't until Cam put his hand over his that he looked away from the window.

“Evan, what happened?”

“Nothing. Just a lot to think about, and right now, that's what I want to do. Think.” He pulled his hand away and returned to looking out at nothing but darkness.

Cam had his own thoughts racing around his head. He wanted to talk to Evan about them, but he kept silent, not pushing for conversation even after they picked up the Mustang and drove back to the condo. Cam unlocked the door. “Home, sweet home,” he said, trying to lighten things up.

“For a few more days,” Evan said. He went inside. “I'm going to clean up and get a drink. You want one?”

“Yeah, stronger than beer, okay?”

“That's what I was thinking.” Evan started to turn towards the kitchen. Cam caught his arm, brought him close and kissed him.

“Hey, we'll work it out. Just don't close me out, okay?”

Evan pulled away, touched Cam's cheek. “That's not what I was doing,” he said and went to get their drinks.

It wasn't like Evan to be so subdued. It wasn't like him to play his cards so close to the vest. That was more John's style. Cam crouched, staring into the flames as the logs caught fire and the scent of mesquite rose up the chimney. He felt his own joy at being given a command was rising in his heart like bubbles in champagne, but at the same time, he wanted to know why Evan was so uncharacteristically quiet.

Lorne returned with the drinks. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue sweater. Some of his tense distance had dissipated. Cam sat on the sofa and slid his arm along the back of it in open invitation. Evan, at least, accepted that. He sat next to Cam, his leg warm and solid, his drink held lightly in his hands. “Who goes first?” he asked.

“I'm being offered the command of a squadron of F-302s.”

“That's great! Congratulations.”

He held up his glass to toast Cam's appointment. Cam pulled his glass back. “Wait for the rest. In Antarctica. God, Sheppard was right!” Cam laughed a bit. “Not what I'd expected.”

“But you'll take it, right?”

“Yes.” The whiskey was bitter in the back of Cam's throat. “What about you?”

There was a moment of hesitation from Lorne before he answered. “I was offered a XO position with a Stargate mining expedition.”

“What? Mining? Come on, Evan. You're a pilot!”

“Yeah, I wish that was what it came down to. But since. I also majored in mining engineering, they figured they might as well put me to good use.”

“They're grounding one of their best pilots!”

“I was a science geek.” He took a sip of whisky and stared into the fire. “Bet you didn't see that one coming.”

“I still don't get it. I majored in math and they sure don't want me in front of a computer!”

“They want me to have Stargate SG team experience. I don't know what else they have in mind. Even Hammond didn't explain it.” He paused, took a breath. “And there was something else.”

Cam looked at him, saw the serious draw to his mouth. “What?”

“Remember the physicals we went through before getting into the program?”

“I remember. I've never been poked, prodded and scanned so much in my life.” Then fear hit him. “Oh, God. Evan, you're all right?”

“I'm fine. Not a thing wrong with me except I seem to have this weird gene that got them all excited.” He held up his hand. “It's not a disease marker. That's all they said. That, and they didn't want me flying F-302s for a while. This mining thing is temporary. General Hammond promised I'd be back in the sky as soon as they finish this new class of FTL ships, the F- 304s. They also want me to brush up on some serious SF training, SERE and things like that.”

“Jesus, Lorne! What the hell kind of prep is that?”

“The kind of prep they want their gate teams to have.” There was an expression in his blue eyes that Cam had never noticed before: the desire for danger, and the thrill of meeting a challenge that reminded him of Sheppard.

“You're really going to take it?”

“I said I wanted some time. A day.”

“Nothing is going to change your mind,” Cam said slowly. “I don't think I'll even try.”

“Cam, we knew this would happen. I told you that what defines me isn't who I sleep with, but how I choose to live. And right now, my life isn't confined to the cockpit of an F-302. Maybe I need to break away from the straight and narrow.” He grinned suddenly, “Well, maybe the narrow.”

Cam's arm curved around Evan's shoulders. “Right now, flying an F302 is where I want to be. They talk about the 'burden of command.' Maybe it is a burden, but I want it more than I've wanted anything for a very long time – with one exception.”

Lorne raised a brow. “Just one?”

“Well, that and a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.” He stroked a finger down Evan's cheek. “So, what are we going to do about this … us?”

“What every military couple does … Love, live, and write really, really long emails until we can be together.” He leaned back against Cam. “Can you live like that?”

“Hell, yeah. We don’t seem to have other options. Not with the cards we’ve been dealt.” He leaned in for a kiss, tasted the whiskey in Lorne's mouth. He slid his hands under Evan's sweater. His skin was warm, smooth and he smelled like clean laundry and a hint of mesquite from the fire. Cam breathed him in, wanting so much more. “I can live a long time on that,” he sighed and took another deep kiss. “The pepperoni pizza can wait.”

 **The End**


End file.
